


I Cried for You on the Kitchen Floor

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: Your throats were sore from screaming and your eyes were red from crying. In the middle of the night, you get into a fight with Sherlock, saying everything other than what you truly wanted the to say and what the other wanted to hear. The ramifications are high and the stakes are even higher.





	I Cried for You on the Kitchen Floor

  


[ ](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)

  


Your breath hitched painfully as you choked on your tears. You could hardly see the room that you had loved to call your home and had once made you feel so safe and welcoming. Tonight it was nothing but a pit of starving, writhing, snakes that were ready to pierce your delicate skin with their poisonous fangs. You curled into a tighter ball in Sherlock’s chair.

“Do you think I care about you?” Sherlock shouted at you from across the room. 

You swallowed enough to answer, “Well, I certainly don’t care enough about you.”

In what seemed like two steps Sherlock was in front of you, leaning down so that his face was only an inch from yours. “Oh yes you do. And you also know that I only keep you around because you are only _just_ as clever, _just_ as unique, and _just_ not as boring the rest. I am using you for _amusement_. You are the _**best of the worst**_.” He stood up and straightened his jacket roughly. 

The silence was deafening as you just stared at each other. You blinked owlishly as silent tears fell down your cheeks. You did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting to you. You turned and looked out the window, casually scratching your face while really wiping away the tears that would not stop flowing. 

The only sound was the crackling of the fire as both of you waited for the other to do something. “Sherlock,” you said gently, finally able to look him in the eye. He turned, surprised at your change of tone. You grabbed a pillow and hugged it to your chest. “They’re right. All of them.”

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock began but you cut him off.

“You are a _freak_ , Sherlock Holmes. A _complete, utter, textbook definition freak_. What you do is not special or a gift of a brilliant mind,” by then you were on your feet and shouting, “but a side effect of an absolute lunatic who should be locked up because he could become what he hunts at a flip of a coin!” 

Silence. Loud, heavy, dreadful silence until Sherlock said calmly, “Well, if that’s how you really feel.” he shrugged on his coat and his scarf and left without another word. What you couldn’t hear through your hysteria and his years of repressed feelings was the small crack in his voice, and what you couldn’t see while you had your face buried in your hands were his blue eyes that had been fighting back tears.

You slid down to the floor, completely wailing.

At that point, John came hurdling down the stairs. “Okay, normally I don’t get into the middle of fights between my friends and especially couples but this has really gotten out of hand, so-“ he looked around the room in stupor. “Where the fuck is Sherlock?”

You could only shrug. “I don’t know. He just left after I completely broke his heart and said the nastiest things to him. Oh, god…” you began to sob, bringing your knees to your chest and burying your face in them. “I said such awful things John, awful, terrible things.”

John rubbed your back. “Well, I can’t help if I don’t understand what you’re saying. How about we sit up and blow your nose. That’s step one.” You nodded. John searched for a box of tissues and placed them on the end table, which you made great use of.

“Okay,” John said calmly as he sat in his chair, “what happened?”

You took a deep shaky breath. “Well, we’ve been together for two years and this whole ‘like-like’ thing has really run its course on my end and has stopped being cute.”  


John had been resting his chin on his palm, but then he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, god here we go,” he said, looking like he was getting ready to be punched in the face.

“So,” you pressed on,” “I told him I loved him and he precede to say that he hated me. Then that lovely little fight happened and voila. Here we are.” You started to weep again. “I don’t understand, John!” Your hands fell to your sides. “Why am I even here?”

John just shook his head as he looked at his feet. “I’m gonna kill him.” He stood up. “I’m gonna find him and drag him back here if my life depends on it and I will not be nice.” You laughed as he ruffled your hair. 

“I’m not innocent in this either,” you chimed as he put on his coat.

“You certainly said some horrible things, but you didn’t tell someone you care about that you hate them after a declaration of love. I’ll be back.”

With that, you were alone.

~*~

John rubbed his hands together, cursing himself that he didn’t have gloves. His breath wafted above him in the midnight hair in curling spirals of warm steam.

“Bloody bastard,” he muttered as he made his way to the heroine den. Without a thought he kicked open the door. He knew that everyone was too tweaked to do him any physical harm, especially with his training. His eyes scoured the emaciated bodies, all their arms and feet littered with track marks. The most disturbing part were their eyes, which were sunken and bloodshot. He was sure their pupils would be blown up when they were high. 

“Hey asshole, if you ain’t sellin’, get the fuck out,” one of them slurred. John ignored him and stepped over a piled of what he was sure was feces. 

In the corner was his best friend.  


Sherlock Holmes was currently sitting among the trash of London with his arm tied off and a lighter heating up a spoon of black tar heroin.

“Sherlock Fucking Holmes!” John shouted, storming over to the consulting detective. Sherlock’s head whipped up and he dropped everything before John grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him out of the den and into the snow, where John began to kick him. 

“ **WHAT** -“ kick, “ **THE** -” kick, “ **FUCK** \- “kick, “ **DO** -“kick, “ **YOU** ” –kick, “ **THINK** ” –kick, “ **YOU** ” - kick, “ **ARE** ”- kick, “ **DOING** ” – kick, “ **YOU** ” – kick, “ **HORSE’S** ” –kick, “ **ARSE**?” –kick. Sherlock finally curled his abused leg under him and just lay in the snow quietly as John knelt down. “She is at home crying thinking you _hate_ her and you’re out here getting high with a bunch of filth because you can’t be an adult and deal with basic adult situations!” Sherlock had sat up at that point and taken the tie off of his arm.

John threw his hands in the air. “What the actual fuck, mate? I have known you for years now and this is the most confusing and stupid thing you’ve ever done.”

“May I tell you why?” Sherlock rasped.

John sat down next to him in the snow. “You can tell me anything.”

For the next ten minutes, Sherlock explained the situation in extreme detail and John listened intently.

“Okay,” John said when Sherlock had finished, “this is what you’re gonna do.” 

~*~

It had been a couple hours since John had left and you had changed into your pajamas and popped on your favorite tv show. It was easy to get lost in even though you had seen it several times. You were stress free for a short amount of time before the front door was unlocked and gently opened, which was a first.  


You reluctantly paused the show and watched as John and Sherlock entered the room. You held back a gasp. Sherlock was limping and his coat, scarf and hair were absolutely filthy and wet. He reeked of odors you didn’t even want to think of. Without meeting your gaze, he took everything off and headed upstairs. Relief washed over you when you heard the shower turn on.

“We’re going to have to do something about those,” you nodded to Sherlock’s coat and scarf.

“Mm?” John answered distractedly before turning to them. “Oh, yeah. I’ll bring them to the cleaners tomorrow. I’ve dealt with enough today.” He threw himself into his chair, looking absolutely drained. “Okay,” he sighed, “he has a lot of things to say to you.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to he-“

John held up a hand. “He has already told me what he needs to get off his chest and you need to listen.” John was holding your hands. “Just let him talk. I don’t know how it’s going to come out of that god forsaken mouth but just…let him say what he needs to say.”

You both looked up when you heard Sherlock call your name. You gave John a meaningful glance and he gestured to the stairs.  


With a deep breath, you stood up and made your way to the stairs. On your way to your shared bedroom you did your best to straighten yourself out and look as presentable as you could. You felt utterly ridiculous, feeling so nervous to talk to someone you’ve spent the last couple years of your life with. Then again, he did hate you and it was quite possible that he was ready to leave you.

“Sherlock?” You knocked on the door.

“It’s your room too.” You rolled your eyes and opened the door. 

Sherlock was sitting on the bed, facing forward. His head was down and his hand were in his lap. “Please sit,” he murmured, patting the spot in front of him.  


Your footsteps were hesitant and soft. You climbed onto the bed and sat down. “Sherlock,” you said, only slightly above a whisper, “are you okay?”

“No,” he shot sharply. “I am not.” He took a deep a deep breath, still staring at his lap. “I have had many philosophies on human relationships. I’ve told John that being alone protects me. I’ve even said sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side,” he laughed bitterly. “I don’t hate you.” Sherlock finally looked up and the breath hitched in your throat. His eyes were red and puffy while his cheeks shined with tears. “I hate _losing_.” 

“Oh, Sherlock,” you choked before gently wrapping your arms around him. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and started to cry. To your amazement, so did he, albeit more controlled and less messy. The world’s only consulting detective lay down, bringing you against his chest and running his fingers through your hair.  


“I loved you longer than I care to admit,” he chuckled, “It’s quite sad, really.” He wiped his tears with his sleeve and then yours. 

“I love you too,” you hummed.

Sherlock kissed your forehead. “That’s really unfortunate. If I wasn’t me I couldn’t deal with me.” 

You waved him off. “I’ve had to deal with you long enough.” You pressed your lips to his. They were warm and soft. 

Never breaking the kiss, Sherlock’s hands moved to your back and slipped up your shirt. Starting at the base of your skull, he massaged your back. Working your muscles with small circles, you felt the tension leave your entire body for the first time that day. When his hands reached the small of your back, they hesitated before firmly grabbing your backside. That small type of physical contact, quite raunchy for the two of you, made your heart start to race.

You had shared nothing but heated kisses and the casual feel ups here and there with Sherlock. He had not seemed comfortable with sex when you had first met him, even finding it pointless and stupid. You accepted his opinions and let it be. When you started your relationship that hadn’t changed. Overtime you had noticed that Sherlock’s aversion to sex had evolved from apathy to nervousness and intimidation. You put the reigns of sexual intimacy in Sherlock’s hands and to your surprise, he finally seemed to be taking them.

“Can I wrap my leg around your waist?”

His eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh and play with his hair. “Because it will be fun.”

“First off, it’s ‘ _May_ I wrap my arm leg around your waist’ and you may if you think it’s going to accomplish anything.”

Hooking your leg around his waist, you pulled him flush against you. You ground your hips against his as you crashed your lips onto his.

“Oh,” was Sherlock’s reply when you pulled away.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was definitely my favorite to write. And the title UuU


End file.
